


Petrichor

by silveriris



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Fluff, Merrill Positive Week, Tumblr Prompt, merribela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveriris/pseuds/silveriris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petrichor –  the smell of dry rain on the ground. / a short drabble previously published on my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Dragon Age is not mine, although the writing certainly is.  
> A/N: written for the “send me a word and I will write a drabble” thing on tumblr and for Merrill Positive Week.

_petrichor_ –  the smell of dry rain on the ground.

* * *

 

“Hey, it's not raining anymore!”

Hawke beams with the kind of enthusiasm only she can have after hours of killing giant spiders in damp caves.

“And the weather is very nice, so cheer up, gang!”

Varric groans; he’s been unusually grumpy all day after his beloved crossbow got covered in layers of blood and goo. “You know what’s nice, Hawke? Wonders of civilisation like streets or taverns that are _not_ full of monsters wanting to use Bianca as toothpick.”

“I’m starting to think you hold a grudge against mother nature,” Isabela comments, one curious eyebrow raised. “Why complain when you can find so many interesting things here, just like…” she looks around and notices something that brings a smile to her face. Considering that she is covered in blood, her smile looks significantly more ominous.

“Just like that thing over there!” She points at an old treasure chest among flowers, partially hidden in the bushes, then decides to investigate.

“See if you can find any old scarves that I can add to my collection!” Hawke calls out after her.

“The weather _is_ nice!” Merrill smiles, looking up at the sky. While the rest of the group is all bloody and dirty, she seems surprisingly _clean_. But then again, she’s the kind of mage who prefers to stays away from enemies. Hawke, on the other hand, doesn’t mind whacking others with her staff which explains why her robe now looks like she bathed in crimson.

“Alienage isn’t that bad, but it’s good to get some fresh air from time to time,” she takes a deep breath, and can smell dry rain on the ground, vaguely remembering a distant memory from simpler times, before the Blight or moving to Kirkwall. She shakes it off, focusing back on the present.

“Next time we should take Anders with us, he's always so pale. And Fenris, too. Staying in that mansion can't be healthy, the whole place smells terribly!”

“I'm guessing it's because of all those corpses,” Hawke says. “We really should tell him that a _normal_ person shouldn't use rotting bodies as decoration...” she turns her attention back to the pirate. “Hey, Bela, did you find anything?”

“Nah, nothing. I’ll be back with you in a sec.”

“You better hurry up, Rivaini. Bianca needs a bath,” Varric eyes the crossbow with concern, wiping some of the blood stains with his sleeve.

Waiting for Isabela, Merrill glances up again. It’s comforting to see clear blue sky, and fluffy clouds (one of them looks almost like a rabbit). She made her choice; she lives in Kirkwall now, in a tiny house that has a weird smell she can’t define. But a small part of her still misses all those little details, like the sky above her head, or the smell of dry rain.

“Here, Kitten,” Isabela says, placing something on the elf’s head.

She touches her head, her eyes widen as she realises what she's wearing. “It's a flower crown!” Merrill exclaims, feeling her face blush. She looks at the pirate, her green eyes sparkling with excitement. “Thank you, this is... This is a truly wonderful gift.”

“Daisies would suit you better, maybe next time!” Isabela winks and laughs. It’s one of the nicest sounds Merrill has ever heard, this woman’s laugh.

Later, when they get back to Kirkwall, Merrill puts the gift by a figurine of a wooden halla, two silly things that mean so much.


End file.
